


the rapture came, we're all sinners

by epicdetour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, basically what would happen if sirius wasn't sent to azkaban, i tagged james and lily but they're only mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 19:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13620621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicdetour/pseuds/epicdetour
Summary: sirius never had the best ideas. kidnapping his godson (and, accidentally, an acquaintance from hogwarts) and going straight to the states is probably in the bottom three.





	1. arrival.

**Author's Note:**

> hi friends! so a long ass time ago, i started writing for harry potter on fanfiction. like literally 5 years. anyway, i wasn't sure if anyone even went on fanfiction anymore so i decided to move this story from there to here. it's unfinished on fanfiction and i'm hoping the new audience will help me to inspire myself to actually finish it...
> 
> we'll see.

October 31, 11:49 pm. 

Nothing ever happens at River Trace Place. It’s one of the things you can count on most in the world; you can expect the sun to rise, the world to keep turning, and for River Trace Place to be completely and utterly normal. _Nothing ever happens—_

_—_ which is why Benjamin Greenewakes to the shattering sound of a gunshot through the night. The noise cracks through his sleep and frightens him to consciousness. He shoots straight up, eyes wide, counts to three, and feels as his wife stirs beside him. 

“What was that?” She murmurs sleepily, her hand moving across the comforter to clutch onto his arm. She sits up as well and reaches to turn on the lamp at her bedside. The room is immediately doused in a dim light, and Ben can make out the fear in her eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers back. For a moment, the world is silent, and his wife’s grows tighter. 

“We’ve locked the doors, right?” She hisses in his ear. “Did you check if the burglar alarm is working like I asked?” 

He hadn’t. He hadn’t thought it was necessary. In all his years of living in this house, he’s never, ever heard of any sort of robbery or attack in the area. 

“Anna,” he says soothingly, moving his hand over to hers and patting it gently. “It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen to us tonight. I promise.” 

Anna’s light blue eyes survey him, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening as she glares at him. Her lips set into a firm line. 

“Benjamin—“ Oh no, she means business. “—I _swear—“_

Their hushed argument is drowned out by screaming. Genuine _screaming,_ the type that’s echoing and so loud that the words muddle together and you can’t really hear what’s being said. Amidst the screaming—a woman, if he’s not mistaken—is the wailing of an infant. Ben swears that the windows could shatter at the sheer volume of the woman. 

“Dear _Lord,”_ Anna says as the shrieking becomes more shrill and less coherent. “Should we call the police?” 

Ben shakes his head, hands trembling slightly as a string of profanities spew from outside— _that,_ he can make out. He’s never heard anyone curse like that before. Despite his wife’s attempts to get him to stay in bed, the man slips out of the sheets and makes his way to the window, peeking through a slip of the curtains. From his spot, he watches as a taller figure—a man, he presumes—turns towards the female and says something. The woman stiffens and clutches a bundle closer to her chest. 

The man, in turns, seems to notice this and holds his hands out. The woman hesitates and takes a fraction of a step back. Ben watches for a moment longer as the woman sighs and hands the bundle over. Seconds later, the crying quiets, and then ceases completely. 

In the newfound silence, Ben opens the curtains a bit more to watch as the couple outside looks up and down the street. The man points at the house directly across from the Greene residence, and the two walk up to it. 

“We have new neighbors?” 

Ben looks over his shoulder at his wife hovering behind him, watching the scene as well. He hadn’t even noticed that she had gotten out of bed. He doesn’t answer, only turns back to the newcomers. It seems to open as if on its own accord (even Anna gasps), but Ben chalks it up tobeing tired. Sleep deprived. It’s a better alternative than going insane. 

At that exact moment, the man from outside turns and his gaze seems to lock directly on Ben. Ben’s breath catches and he steps backwards, ignoring his wife’s questioning look as he pulls the curtains closed and scrambles away from the window, climbing back into bed like a frightened child. 

Anna follows, tugging on her graying plait before scooting under the covers. Her cold feet hit his calf.

“Do you think they’re dangerous?” He hears Anna whisper as he closes his eyes and pretends to go back to sleep. 

“I think we’ll find out soon enough.” 

This answer isn’t one that Anna wants to hear. She doesn’t say anything as she shifts to turn out the light and settles back into bed. 

The world is doused in darkness once again. The neighborhood is completely quiet once more, the broken silence only echoing in Ben and Anna’s ears, otherwise forgotten.


	2. runaways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter ends exactly where the prologue-ish chapter ends as well, so that's where the story really begins, if that makes sense. 
> 
> enjoy!

October 31, 11:34 pm.

The minute hand on the clock on the Potters’ wall moves again with a loud click. As if that breaks the dam for an overflow of a series of unfortunate events, the front door bursts open, banging against the opposing wall and slowly swinging closed again. A hand reaches out, presses against the woof to prevent it from shutting all the way. 

The girl standing in the doorway freezes then, hazel eyes surveying the wreckage that had once been a home. She sucks in a deep breath. There’s a painful lump in her throat as she mutters a quick incantation to light her wand, and she wills herself not to cry. It’s too late for tears. They won’t do any good. 

She steps over the threshold. The air feels thick. It feels like death. 

Mechanical and stiff, she takes another step, tying her hair to give her shaking hands something to do. Her toe nudges into something and she feels it move. 

She shouldn’t look down. But she does anyway.

James Potter’s eyes are glazed over, staring up at the ceiling, hazel and horrified. They’re not bright or shining or twinkling with mirth like she remembers. They’re cold, unseeing. She drops her wand. 

“No,” she whispers as she collapses to her knees. There’s a wave of nausea that washes over her as she tugs the body up, presses her face into his dark hair as she cradles him. She doesn’t know why she’s sobbing, clutching at his shirt, tears dripping down onto the skin on his neck. “Come on, James. _Come on.”_

She knows he won’t wake up, but she hopes he will anyway. She desperately prays for him to move, to clear his throat like he does when he’s uncomfortable, wants him to ruffle his own hair with a _“For fucks sake, Clara, are you crying?”_

Her fingertips skate against the flesh on his wrist. It’s already cold as ice. 

_You didn’t have to die,_ she thinks as she’s hiccuping, refusing to let the body fall from her grasp, because perhaps if she holds him long enough her warmth will bring him back. _This wasn’t your fate._

There are footsteps behind her and Clara isn’t fast enough to reach for her wand and turn before she’s being blasted towards the stairs opposite from where she’d been. James’s head lolls grotesquely against her shoulder, body pinning her against the steps. She wants to scream, but her back is aching tremendously and she only grimaces instead. 

The figure standing in the doorway is a familiar one, but Clara’s smarter than to trust so easily. It’s the enemy, probably, wearing and old acquaintance’s skin. 

“Are you going to kill me?” She asks, and she hates how her voice croaks. The hand holding the wand falters. 

“Clara?” The figure asks, stepping into the light that Clara’s fallen wand offers. His pale skin is illuminated, and from beneath shaggy black hair, she sees gray eyes peeking out, stormy angry at his best friend being taken from him too soon. Sirius Black. 

Clara groans in response, still holding James against her chest. She lefts him go then, brushing away the remaining tears as she presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“My wand—“ she tries, moving James gently beside her. Sirius scoffs, snatches the wand up. Clara sighs. 

“Sirius—“ 

“There’s no way in _hell_ —“ 

“It’s _me,”_ Clara tries to say urgently, convincingly, because it really is _her—_ she isn’t a Death Eater with the Polyjuice Potion running through her veins like she knows he suspects. Sirius’s gaze doesn’t waver, only moves slightly to the left where James is. If he’s shocked by the sight of his lifeless best friend, he doesn’t show it. Instead he moves briskly to Clara and hoists her up by her shirt, slamming her once against the wall. She chokes as her collar tightens around her neck, fees his wand prodding against her throad. 

“Who are you?” He roars, shaking her when she doesn’t reply immediately. _“Answer me!”_

“Cl-Clara Salt,” she gasps out, clutching at his hand and desperately trying to get him off. “Sirius—“ 

“What house were you in at Hogwarts?” 

“I—“ 

“Ravenclaw!” It physically hurts her to speak but she still does, managing to get the word out. “I-I was a Chaser on the House team. You were a—“ she inhales sharply, trying to get enough air to her lungs so she doesn’t pass out. He’s _strong;_ black dots begin to dance in her vision. _He’s going to kill me._ “—a Beater. H-hit me with a Bludger in our last match. W-we won. You nearly paralyzed me. Broke my s-spine.” 

Sirius glares for a moment before the words register. He lets Clara down then and she coughs heavily, long enough and hard enough to make her throat feel raw. She doubles over, spits blood against Sirius’s shoes. He wants until she’s done to hand her back her wand. 

“Sorry about that,” he says, and there’s that slight sheepishness that only Sirius Black can pull off in such circumstances. One can never be too careful. 

She points her wand towards him. As soon as he sees her raise her wand, he seems to know there’s a curse coming, and he braces himself before he’s being knocked against the wall. The incantation holds him in place, pressing him against plaster. A framed picture of Lily, James, and Harry falls and hits Sirius on the head. He only winces slightly. 

She doesn’t ask for identification, but he says it anyways, struggling to speak but doing so with that Black grace, managing to speak clearly, unlike her. 

“You lost your virginity to me over the Christmas holidays in seventh year. You were just about to turn seventeen. Afterwards, you told me you didn’t fancy me. I didn’t expect you to, but it still stung a bit.” He lets out a strangled laugh. “Don’t think I spoke to you for weeks afterwards.” 

Clara flushes uncomfortably at the memory, allowing him to slide slowly to the ground. He does, massaging where the pressure had been on his body. They stand and stare at each other, taking each other in and yet refusing to meet the other’s eyes.

He speaks first. 

“I came to get Harry.” 

It hadn’t occurred to her to check on him. Not after seeing the place, not after taking in the wreckage. She hadn’t even made it to the nursery. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she says quietly, honestly. He nods as if he understands. Clara sees as his eyes flit towards James, and then back towards her. 

“They think I did it. They think I double-crossed James and Lily.”

She knows that. She might have believed it, for a split second, when she’d first heard, but not anymore. Seeing him stand there in front of her, seeing the look in his eyes, the exhaustion, the horror, the pain…it’s all too raw to be faked. It’s too real to be in the gaze of a murderer. 

“I know,” she nearly whispers. 

“I didn’t.” His voice is a bit more urgent then.

“I know that too.” 

That seems to relax him, and for the first time, they meet each other’s eyes. Their exchange then is silent, but she knows he’s thanking her. 

“I think I’m going to take him to the States,” he continues, saying this next sentence carefully, as if saying it too casually would cause some sort of explosion. Clara feels her heart drop. 

“You’re _what?”_

“It’s far. Witches and wizards don’t travel that way very often.” He’s rambling now, moving towards Clara. She takes in a breath, but then he sidesteps her and continues up the stairs. “I think we could be okay there.” 

“Sirius Black, running away,” Clara says, not to mock him, but because it’s so uncharacteristic of him.

“It’s not for me,” he replies defensively, not sparing her a glance. He thinks she’s taunting him. “It’s for Harry.” 

She follows him now, taking two steps at a time to catch up. “What if we told Dumbledore? He would be able to help us. He’d help Harry—“

“No.” 

“But—“

“They’ll send him to live with his Muggle relatives. You know that,” Sirius’s voice is harsh as he interrupts, pushing open the door to the nursery. “That’s no better than being with me…” 

He falters. Lily’s body is draped across the floor, green eyes wide, the ghost of terror still among her lifeless gaze. Her hair cascades out around her, and Clara can’t help but think that even in death, she looks beautiful. Sirius sucks in a breath and stares toward the crib until he sees a tiny fist pop up into view. 

“Oh, thank _fuck.”_ Clara hears herself whisper. Sirius seems to be frozen to his spot, so she moves around him, steps over Lily’s body, and retrieves the boy. He looks ready to wail, but then appears to recognize Clara, and settles instead for pressing his hand against her nose. 

Sirius speaks again. “If I turn myself in, they won’t be merciful.”

Clara turns towards him, and he scoffs at her confusion. 

“That’s why you want me to turn myself in, right? Because you think they’ll believe me and let me go?” 

“They haven’t enough evidence to kill you or anything—“ 

“They won’t kill me,” he agrees somberly. “I’m headed straight for Azkaban instead.” 

_Azkaban._ Even the name makes her feel like she’s about to be sick. She lowers her eyes back to Harry, who’s taken to sticking his thumb in his mouth, looking at her with wide, emerald eyes. 

_I envy you_ , she thinks, smoothing his hair down. _You haven’t got a clue of what’s going on. You won’t remember how much this all fucking hurts._

“They might give you a chance,” she tries. “Maybe if you say something now, when the news is fresh and there’s reason for celebration about You-Know-Who, then—“ 

He laughs. It makes her feel idiotic. “You have too much optimism, Clara.” 

_I used to._ Then she remembers James’s body. 

Sirius coughs then. “They’ll probably be here soon for Harry,” he says. “I should go—“ 

Clara isn’t too sure who’s more surprised when she clutches Harry into her chest and steps away. 

“No.” 

“You’re fucking joking,” Sirius says in disbelief. “Clara, don’t turn against me now.” 

“I’m not,” she says quietly for the sake of Harry. “I just—I don’t think you’re thinking this through.” 

“I have—“

“You’re being selfish—“

“I am _not—“_

“Look at him!” She thrusts Harry towards Sirius’s face so he can get a good look at the child. “Look at him, Sirius! He hasn’t got the faintest clue of magic, of _anything_ that’s happened to him, don’t you think that would be better for him? To grow up not knowing? He’d be _safe— “_

_“He’d be safe with me!”_ Sirius bellows finally, shocking Clara into silence. Sirius takes this moment to continue, “It’s only a matter of time before some batshit insane Death Eater decides to take You-Know-Who's place.  _Then what?_ Then he's fucked because he has no protection, no magic.  _Nothing!"_

Clara wants to argue, and she would, but she hears faint noises coming from below. She takes in a breath, listens intently. Someone's opened the front door. 

"Sirius—" 

_ "No!" _  Sirius bellows, face turning red. "They've already taken my best friends. I'll be damned if I let you take Harry too." 

"Sirius, shut the fuck up!" And because it's the only thing she can think to do, she waves her wand at him and watches in satisfaction as his mouth seals shut. He struggles, she sees the panic in his eyes, and it grows more when the footsteps thunder up the stairs. 

In the moments that follow, everything happens so quickly that she can't seem to process any of it. The door bangs open and she hears herself scream. There's shouting, she can't understand any of it. Sirius grabs her arm. She snaps her gaze towards him. He only looks at her as a curse flies over his head. She thinks that it looks like he's apologizing. 

They're there together in one second, and in the next the world goes black. She's conscious, she knows, and she's pressed tightly against Sirius as if they've been sucked through a tube. She wants to scream, but she can't find the air to, and as her limbs compress together she only thinks about how Harry is feeling.

They're let out suddenly and Clara feels her feet hit the ground, sending a jolt up her spine. She gasps for breath. She's vaguely aware of Harry wailing in her arms as she holds him out at arm's length and promptly vomits on the pavement below her. 

Pavement. She's on pavement.  _What?_

She looks up as Harry's cries grow increasingly more hysterical. She gags a bit as she looks along the row of houses they've Apparated to, her gaze landing on a sign. In the dim lighting of a street light, she sees the name.  _River Trace Place._

"Sirius?" She calls out in a panic just as she feels a hand clamp down on her shoulder. She whirls around, reaching for her wand as she comes face to face with Sirius. As she lets out a breath, Sirius looks unimpressed as he waves at his mouth. Clara nods and reverses the jinx she'd placed on him. Neither of them speak. She waits for him to break the silence. He, on the other hand, takes his time stretching out his jaw, opening his mouth wide and closing it again. 

The first thing out of his mouth is: "I've put an Anti-Apparation and Anti-Disapparation spell on the perimeter of this place. You're not leaving with Harry; no one's coming in." 

She stares at him for a moment. "You couldn't speak. How...?" 

"Didn't have to," he twirls his wand between his fingers smugly. "I did what I had to do." 

He's unapologetic. That's what makes Clara begin to scream bloody murder, voice mingling with Harry's and echoing into the night around them. 


End file.
